


Merry Christmas, John & Greg

by Chelsea_Ellsworth



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, Gen, Johnstrade, M/M, Matchmaking, Mistletoe, Pre-Slash, Sherlock Holmes Being a Good Friend, Sherlock-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:40:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28061076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chelsea_Ellsworth/pseuds/Chelsea_Ellsworth
Summary: Sherlock had seen John and Lestrade's mutual attraction since they were introduced and decided that getting them together would make the perfect Christmas present. But how should he do it? Mistletoe, obviously.
Relationships: Greg Lestrade/John Watson
Comments: 6
Kudos: 23





	Merry Christmas, John & Greg

**Author's Note:**

> This is mildly AU.  
> Greg isn't married.  
> This story takes place before TGG. 
> 
> (Huge shout out to my beta, Glowstar826! Thank you so much!!)

* * *

[](https://imgbb.com/)

* * *

Christmas was approaching 221B Baker Street, and Sherlock Holmes was _not_ happy.

Why?

His best friend, John Watson, had decided to throw a Christmas party in their flat. Though Sherlock knew how much John liked social gatherings, he still thought that it was a monumentally stupid idea. But that’s because Sherlock didn’t like people and sentiment and useless presents, for they usually showed just how little his acquaintances knew him. John, however, did like people and was ridiculously sentimental.

Sherlock glared but didn’t complain (much) because he knew that John’s previous Christmas was spent in depression and recovery from his injury. This year, he had friends with whom to celebrate, and Sherlock didn’t begrudge him (much) for wanting to have a party. Sherlock just wished the party wasn’t going to be in their flat. Where was he supposed to disappear to when he got tired of dealing with the natural idiocy of people – his room? 

But Sherlock had to admit that John was being very considerate in limiting the guest list and keeping the amount of festive decor to a minimum. John had broken up with his most recent girlfriend a few weeks back (thank God), and didn’t bother inviting Harry or Mycroft (which was almost enough consideration to prompt Sherlock into cleaning off the kitchen table – almost). From what Sherlock understood, it was just going to be Mrs. Hudson (“She’s been very nice to us, Sherlock. It would be rude to leave her out.”), Molly Hooper (“She’s a sweet girl who gives you near unlimited access to all the body parts you need. You don’t want to screw that up do you?”), and DI Lestrade (“Would it kill you to show the man a little gratitude?”).

Sherlock had been watching John and Lestrade closely since they met. He could see their mutual attraction, but neither had made a move. Sherlock blamed John’s habitual response of, “I’m not gay,” whenever anyone assumed he and John were lovers (Sherlock always ignored the comments since they weren’t important enough to acknowledge). He had seen Lestrade’s shoulders slump each time it happened in front of him though, and Sherlock despaired of his intelligence. Shouldn’t a detective inspector be able to work out that _of course_ John wasn’t gay? He was so obviously bisexual – Sherlock had known that almost from the start.

At first Sherlock had purposely kept John and Lestrade apart because he didn’t want to deal with the complication (especially if the two didn’t work out). But it had been almost a year, and neither had let his attraction interrupt _The Work_ , so perhaps it was time to rethink things on that front. John, Sherlock knew, had only dated women since meeting Lestrade (very telling), but those relationships were infrequent and short lived – oftentimes not even reaching a second date. Lestrade’s track record had been similarly spotty in the relationships’ department for the better part of two years, though not for lack of trying. They were both romantically inclined and looking for a long term relationship with someone who would understand their hectic schedules. With that thought, Sherlock decided that he could (and would) make that his Christmas gift to them both – getting them together.

Now, all Sherlock needed was a foolproof plan. He was a genius, after all. He was sure he could figure something out. Unfortunately, nothing came to mind until he saw that Mrs. Hudson had hung mistletoe above the front door. Of course, it was simple: Sherlock would hang his own bunch of mistletoe and chivy Lestrade and John under it. Then, they would kiss, and voila! Instant couple. Easy.

*****

Or perhaps not so easy.

Appropriating Mrs. Hudson’s mistletoe had been simplicity itself, and Sherlock had hung his purloined plant in the kitchen archway. He’d then assumed everything would go as he expected.

He did not expect John to see and move the mistletoe without him noticing. Nor did Sherlock expect that _he_ would keep getting caught under the blasted plant with Molly. He’d grimaced and complained each time and given Molly the smallest peck he could manage and yet it continued to happen! He couldn’t explain it. There had been four times in the first half-hour that Sherlock and Molly had been under the mistletoe and forced to kiss, and neither Lestrade nor John had been anywhere near.

After that fourth time, and ignoring Molly’s dismayed expression, Sherlock pulled the blasted weed down and stomped off to his room. He needed a new strategy. Could he shove them in a room together? Hmm, no guarantees they’d kiss. They’d probably just stand there banging on the door and yelling at him. Should he just tell them that they were romantically interested in each other and to get it over with, brash and direct like a deduction? Probably a bit not good. No, he needed to be clever. He _was_ clever! This shouldn’t have been that challenging, but humans were often notoriously contrary at times.

“Decided to stop sulking?” John asked when Sherlock came back to the living room. Sherlock saw that John was sitting in his red chair, Lestrade was sitting in _Sherlock’s_ chair (Sherlock glared), Mrs. Hudson was seated on a kitchen chair, and Molly was at one end of the sofa.

“I wasn’t _sulking_ ,” Sherlock denied, flopping angrily onto the other end of the sofa.

“Of course you weren’t,” John said, sarcasm mild but present. “We were just getting ready to exchange gifts.”

That made Sherlock perk up.

“No deducing and spoiling the surprise for the rest of us, Sherlock,” John scolded.

“Boring.”

John handed Sherlock an envelope with his name on it.

“Gift card from the Yard?” Sherlock asked, slightly puzzled because none of the police officers even _liked_ Sherlock.

“That’s right,” Lestrade answered with a grin. “We all chipped in. Got one for you too, John.”

Ah. It was nice when social customs worked in Sherlock’s favor. Not that he would have been _too_ offended if the Yard had only given a present to John: John was likable.

“Cheers,” John returned, finding the envelope with his name on it. He opened it and frowned momentarily before chuckling.

“What?” Sherlock asked. How could opening up a gift you already knew the contents of be amusing?

“Open yours,” John said, grinning.

“It’s a gift card, I already know that.”

“Just _open_ it,” John demanded.

Scoffing, Sherlock did as he was told and frowned when he saw that it was a gift card to a sporting goods store. His frown deepened and he looked over at John for clarification on why he should find it funny that once again he was given a gift that didn’t suit him at all.

John’s grin widened. “It was nice of the Yard to get me a gift card to a science supply store, don’t you think? It’s not really my thing, but I’m sure I could do _something_ with it.”

And it finally clicked. “Trade you science supplies for sporting goods,” Sherlock said as nonchalantly as he could. He didn’t think it at all humorous to intentionally give the wrong gifts to people, but the humor of idiots was often lost on him.

John looked puzzled as he turned to Lestrade. “Sporting goods?”

Lestrade shrugged. “You said you used to play, so I thought if you got some kit I could talk you into joining the games with me and the Yard come spring.”

“Sounds fun,” John agreed, smiling at Lestrade who returned it.

Sherlock (who didn’t think it sounded fun at all) impatiently threw his gift card at John where it hit him on the chest. John threw his own card back in retaliation without looking; it hit Sherlock on his right collarbone.

“Boys,” Mrs. Hudson admonished, “it’s Christmas!”

Sherlock scoffed again, but he didn’t argue.

John went back to passing out presents.

Sherlock still needed a plan. He hadn’t bothered buying any tangible gifts for John or Lestrade, which they would realize as the pile got smaller. Although, that was an idea.

Sherlock waited until the next gift was passed out to someone other than himself, then made up the excuse that he needed the bathroom. After making sure no one suspected anything, Sherlock ducked down to the hall closet instead and stuck his sprig of mistletoe to the lintel just above the door where it wouldn’t be noticed right away. He also unscrewed the lightbulb a little. That finished, Sherlock just waited out the appropriate time of two minutes and fifty-four seconds before returning to the living room with no one the wiser.

The presents continued to be exchanged.

Mrs. Hudson got Sherlock a box for violin care (including rosin and polish) and a new scarf. She got John a cocoa-colored jumper and a small case of assorted jams. Since she didn’t know Molly or Lestrade that well, they were each given tins of her homemade fudge.

Lestrade gave Molly and Mrs. Hudson some nice-but-generic gift bags of bath and body items (Mrs. Hudson’s was purple, and Molly’s was yellow which made both women smile for reasons Sherlock didn’t bother trying to understand). He gave Sherlock a 1000-milliliter flat-bottom boiling flask for his chemistry set (Sherlock was impressed enough to wave off Lestrade’s, “Because you do make my job easier, even if you are a right bastard who can’t remember my name.”). To John, Lestrade gave a _very_ nice bottle of whiskey.

Molly’s presents all turned out to be hand-knitted scarves with small decorative tie pins for the men and a brooch for Mrs. Hudson.

John’s presents turned out to be books. Mrs. Hudson’s and Molly’s were romances. Lestrade’s was a cookbook (which he seemed very pleased about). Sherlock’s was a guide to keeping bees and maintaining a garden in an urban setting (“Thank you, John.”).

Sherlock gave Molly a personal journal with her name engraved on the cover (John’s idea - Sherlock was going to give her some formaldehyde). He gave Mrs. Hudson a voucher for an all-expenses-paid weekend at the spa (also John’s idea because apparently, giving people money to buy their own presents was not in the spirit of the holiday). Lestrade didn’t seem troubled about not getting a gift from Sherlock, but John looked hurt. That was Sherlock’s signal to put his plan into action.

“I didn’t have time to wrap your present, John, so I stuck it in the hall closet.”

John perked up, just like Sherlock had anticipated. “Oh? Where?”

“Top shelf.”

“I won’t be able to reach the top shelf,” John admitted.

Sherlock smugly responded, “That’s why it’s such a good hiding spot.” He pretended to not understand why everyone was looking at him, expecting him to go get it for John. “What?” he asked.

John huffed, but when he stood, Lestrade rose as well. “I’ll help,” he told John. “So where is it?”

“I already told you, it’s on the top shelf.” The word _idiot_ had been omitted, but Sherlock’s tone reminded everyone just how much he hated repeating himself.

“Leave it, Greg. Sherlock probably thinks I’ll find it fun to look in and behind every box,” John said, leading the way to the hall.

“Won’t you?” Sherlock called after them.

John’s chuckles floated back.

“Yeah, I probably will.”

Sherlock counted time in his head. He could picture John and Lestrade walking to the closet, opening the door and reaching for the chain for the light and having it not work. Right as expected, John called back, “Sherlock, the light’s out.”

“Must I do _everything_ myself?” Sherlock grumbled for show, getting up and stopping at his desk for paper, a pen, and a piece of sellotape. He left Molly and Mrs. Hudson in the living room and came up behind John in the hallway. He and Lestrade were talking - brainstorming - and Lestrade had just stepped inside to check that the lightbulb was fully screwed in. Perfect.

Sherlock took barely a moment to scribble his note, then crowded John forward into the doorway, looking over his shoulder at Lestrade as the light turned on. “Oh look, Lestrade fixed it!” he scoffed. “Now quit wasting time. It’s behind that box,” Sherlock said, pointing randomly. When Lestrade and John had looked where he was pointing, Sherlock taped the paper to the inside of the door, shoved John forward into Lestrade, and then slammed the door on them.

“Oi!” Lestrade yelped, before his tone turned soft and concerned. “You all right?” he asked John.

“Sherlock, what the hell!” John shouted.

But there was no frantic hammering of a fist on the wood nor rattling of the doorknob. Sherlock smirked. John had obviously seen the note and mistletoe and was obviously equally pleased. There was a lot that Sherlock had wanted to say (such as, “Keep the PDA to a minimum,” or, “Next time I hang mistletoe, for God’s sake, don’t move it!”) but there hadn’t been time. The note simply read:

_Look up._

_Merry Christmas, John & Greg_

_-SH_

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading.  
> I don't think I'll be writing a sequel for this, so if anyone wants to do that, feel free (just send me the link so I can read it!).  
> =D


End file.
